Possibilities
by colorful swirls
Summary: Anything can happen when you have a magic wand. / A collection of ten NextGen one-shots. LucyLorcan, TeddyVictoire, RoseScorpius, and more.
1. dominiquelorcan

**whisper**

dominique&lorcan

...

* * *

_He was never anything more than a whisper._

* * *

**i. signals**

The sky is stormy and dark gray; the water icy cold and freezing. Laughter echoes; cheerful shouts; playful smacks; girly screams.

They've always been a bit backwards.

Especially Lucy, who orchestrated this winter visit to the beach. But it's a chance to all be together, so they go and have fun and act like it's normal.

Victoire bundles up in three turquoise blue fleece jackets that match her boyfriend's hair, Molly wears a cream-colored sweater and nestles against Lysander. They manage to keep warm somehow _(each other's body heat)_.

Dominique sits on the grainy, damp sand and shivers, putting her head between her knees. Lily's sitting beside her, chattering on about something or another when she notices her cousin about to die of hypothermia beside her.

"Here," she says immediately, handing Dominique one of her huge yellow jackets.

"Thanks," Dom replies gratefully, pulling it on and savoring the warmth it brings.

A flash of blonde and blue appears—Lorcan Scamander.

"Come on, Lils," he shouts, pointing to the volleyball net someone had put up. "Let's play. You, too, Dominique," he adds, looking at the girl still shivering beside his girlfriend.

"Okay!" Lily is up in an instant, pulling her cousin up by her elbow. When she manages to get Dominique standing, Lorcan puts an arm around both of them, steering them towards where James, Fred, and Louis are waiting with a ball in hand.

Lorcan kisses both of them on the cheek sloppily. Lily laughs and hits him on the chest. Dominique giggles and tries not to make it clear that she wants more.

Thunder rumbles in the sky; a signal, an omen.

_The beginning of an attraction that should never have started._

**ii. worse things**

Tears stream down her face, water shaking as sobs wrack her body.

He can't be gone, he can't have left her for her cousin. _He can't have._

Those fiery red heads get _everything_. Scorpius included.

All of a sudden, she jerks up as the door to the basement opens. "Dominique?" comes a distinctly male and recognizable voice.

Wiping her face quickly with her sleeve and trying to remove traces of snot, she stands up. "What _is_ it, Lorcan?"

"Your mum sent me to get you. Dinner's ready—" he takes a closer look at her, stepping closer. "Dominique—are you _crying_?"

"No," she says, but her voice cracks and she knows it's over, so she sinks to the ground as more tears leak out.

He sits beside her, patting her back awkwardly. "Dom, what _happened_?"

She shakes her head. It's too embarrassing to talk about, and he'll find out eventually, but this is _Lorcan Scamander_, so she has to say _something_. "Just—just Scorpius."

His name only creates more sobs. Lorcan moans sympathetically. "Oh, Dominique," he whispers. "There are—there are worse things than heartbreak, you know."

Taking a breath, she sighs. "Yeah," she agrees softly as the tears slowly run down her face. "Sorry."

"For crying?" he asks incredulously. "You have every right to cry, Dom."

"Okay," she says, smiling in spite of herself. "Thanks, Lorcan."

_There are worse things than heartbreak, but there's nothing better than falling in love._

**iii. trap**

Lorcan Scamander is a Ravenclaw—his intelligence is of no question. He knows she's trouble. He knows that this can't be his destiny—surely falling in love with _Dominique Weasley_ isn't what fate intended, it _can't_ be.

He knows he's supposed to ride off in the sunset with Lily.

But he finds that he doesn't care.

She's light and beautiful and she _glimmers_. She's perfect, with her auburn curls and fair skin and ocean blue-green eyes that make him feel like she sees straight through him.

_(She probably does.)_

Lorcan _knows_ that she's a trap, that it would be wiser to avoid the storm and walk away, but he can't.

If she's a trap, then he's going to fall in, because he loves her.

_They're falling, but there's nothing to catch them._

**iv. mangled**

"Please, Dom," Scorpius says, his gray eyes trying to make her cave. But she won't. Because it's too late for him.

She shakes her head, and the message is clear. "No," she says. "I'm sorry, Scorpius. I'm not going to _do_ this again—but don't worry, Rose has been pining for you."

He sighs. Scorpius isn't her type—she knows that now—but he's a good guy, and he deserves a girl that'll love him. "I don't need Rose," he admits softly. "I need _you_, Dom."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and there are tears in her eyes, though she doesn't want them there. "I'm sorry, Scorp."

And then she kisses his cheek and, ignoring the hand that reaches for her, she walks out the door.

She is sorry, but not for her, for him. Her and Lorcan are meant to be—it's obvious he feels the same for her she does him. Everyone can see it in the looks he sends her way when he thinks she isn't looking.

Her heart is as mangled as Roxanne's chewed-up nails, but a fresh start is what she needs.

And it's a fresh start she'll get.

_Determination is never good in hopeless situations._

**v. tropic storm**

The sun shines red-orange in the sky as it slowly falls, the water is warm and striking in the light, the sand soft and slightly moist.

Not a sound can be heard other than occasional whispers and Fred's hand-held video game as he defeats aliens and ignores the beautiful scenery.

They've always been a bit backwards.

Dominique sits in the water, at the very edge. All the other girls are lounging, the sea breeze rippling their hair. But Dom has always been the strangest.

There's a shuffle of feet as a boy sits down beside her. "Hey."

"Hey," she answers, looking up at Lorcan's face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," he answers, and it's true.

She'd looked like a tropical beauty from where he was standing with Lysander and Lucy. Now she looks like a tropical storm—still beautiful, but deadly, and only he is brave enough to approach the waves.

"That's sweet."

"Yeah." He reaches out and—hesitantly—takes her hand. She smiles softly.

"Lorcan, I—"

He turns his dark navy eyes on her, and she pauses, thinking,_ I've never seen that shade of blue in eyes_, and then suddenly she can't think, she can't see, she can only _feel_ because he's kissing her.

He tastes the storm behind her lips. She tastes the sun behind his.

"I love you," she says when he pulls away.

"I need you," he replies simply, and they hold hands and look at the water, waiting peacefully for the hurricane _(tropic storm)_ that is sure to come any moment.

_She'll always want more; he'll always need less._

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

**Word Count: 1,208**

**Written For:**

**- Thursday, February 28th on Prompts, oh Prompts (whisper, worse things, trap, mangled) on NGF.**

**- Day 12 on isn't-she-lovelyy's 400 Fragrant Prompts (sea breeze, lounging, tropical, beauty) on HPFC.**

**Please don't favorite/follow without reviewing.**


	2. teddyvictoire

**starshine**

teddy&victoire

...

* * *

_Their story, like everything magical, has seven parts._

* * *

**part one: starstruck ~yellow~ (Harry & Ginny)**

Victoire sits in the Burrow's living room, her blue eyes wide with astonishment.

"Mum," she whispers, nudging the woman beside her. "That's _Teddy Lupin_!"

Fleur laughs. "So it iz, dear. Why don't you talk to him?"

Her daughter gasps, shaking her head quickly. "No! I can't _talk_ to him—I'll embarrass myself!"

"Victoire, he iz going to be around for a long, long time. Uncle Harry is his godfather. You'll 'ave to talk to him eventually."

"Nuh-uh!" Victoire squirms behind her mother, giggling as Fleur tickles her.

Like her aunt before her, Victoire is starstruck—but by a boy with untidy blue hair, not black.

_(Of course, if he wanted to, Teddy could change his hair to yellow, to match the star that she sees him as.)_

**part two: best friends ~green~ (George & Angelina)**

They are inseparable. Victoire follows him around everywhere—she's seven, and adorable, so he lets her.

_Not_ because he likes having her around. Ew! She's a _girl_.

(It doesn't matter how cute she is wearing that green seashell necklace he made her.)

"Come _on_, Vic," Teddy tells her one day. "Let's go to the lake." His eyes plead with her silently, huge and brown.

"No," she refuses, turning her head away from him. She sticks her bottom lip out (which means she's determined, he's found out). "We're going to get in trouble. And you know I don't like the lake, Teddy."

"You're such a goody two shoes, Vic." He rolls his eyes. She sticks her tongue out at him.

"Better than being _bad_," she counters. "And being _bad_ at being bad."

"I am _not_ bad at being bad—"

Victoire grabs her teddy bear and stands up, huffing. "Yes, you _are_, Teddy. Now, are you going to get cookies with me or _not_?"

He gives her a strange look. "Vicky, we just had breakfast. Your dad isn't going to let us have cookies."

"We don't have to _ask_," Victoire answers, flipping her hair. "It's called being bad, Teddy." She sniffs disdainfully. "You are _such_ a goody two shoes."

Then, clutching Mr. Stuffing, she climbs down the ladder of their tree house. He follows, a grin slowly creeping onto his face.

Going by her Uncle George and Aunt Angelina's example, they've become friends before anything else.

**part three: arguments ~red~ (Ron & Hermione)**

Her breathing is hard and her breaths are too short. She's looking at her (former) best friend, but all Victoire sees is an angry, splotchy red.

"Why do care, Vic? How does it affect _you_?" His voice is cold and strong and she's never been more angry, _nev__er_.

"Of _course_ this affects me!" she screeches. "You're my best friend—and this _Rebecca_ character is going to be all over you—and then how do me and you hang out?"

"I don't know, Vic," he answers, getting quieter. "Like we always have? With _letters_? With going out somewhere? _At the Burrow!_"

She sighs, and for the first time he sees the diamonds in the corner of her eyes. "Teddy, it's not the same. You—having a girlfriend—she's _so_ bloody annoying—_Godric_, Teddy, what do you even see in her?"

The words are coming out desperately now.

"Why do you _care_ what I see her, Victoire?"

The use of her real name is what shocks her still. Teddy always, _always_ uses one of his many nicknames for her—she's Vic, or Vicky, or Torie, or Vicka, or some other name he's created.

He never, _ever_ calls her _Victoire_.

"I don't," she says, so quietly he barely hears her. The dull look in her usually-bright eyes scares him a little. "I don't care."

And then she turns around and walks away and slams the door behind her, like all real divas.

They rival Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron whenever they fight. _(Not really—no one can ever beat those two at arguments.)_

**part four: beauty ~blue~ (Bill & Fleur)**

He stares at her from across the small, cozy room. The bright white snow from outside shows through the window, making her already glimmering figure _shine_.

Her eyes captivate him—she isn't even looking at him, she's talking and laughing with Molly, but his eyes are glued on hers.

Just being around her causes his hair to turn pink—though he tries desperately to keep it at it's usual turquoise—his voice to go squeaky, and his palms to get sweaty.

It took him awhile (sixteen years) but Teddy has fallen for a blue-eyed, Veela beauty, just like her father before him.

**part five: first kiss ~pink~ (Remus & Tonks)**

It starts out so innocently.

She is calmly talking to Jarod Davies. Trying to pretend she doesn't notice that the prat is actually drooling—um, _gross_—she flashes him her most seductive smile and hypnotizing wink.

He falls for it. His grin is lopsided and dazed, though she knows he'd aimed for charming. She cringes mentally, and ignoring Teddy, who is staring at her cooly from behind the couch Jarod is sitting on, Victoire takes his hand.

It's sweaty and dirty and disgusting and nothing like how Teddy's feels—but honestly, why does she care about _Teddy_? He's _glaring at her_—now he's standing up—he's walking this way—

He's walking towards her, and she's still frozen, holding Jarod's hand like an idiot.

"Victoire," Teddy says. "Can I talk to you a moment?"

She closes her eyes for the briefest second. "Of course." She drops Jarod's hand as politely as she can and follows Teddy out of the Common Room, feeling the eyes that are following her scornfully.

"What do you what?" Her voice has an edge to it now, because she's about had it with Teddy—he's so _blind_, and he _never_ understands, and now he acts like—like—

"I'm in love with you, Vic," he says, and her vision tunnels.

She's looking into his eyes, which are brown (the way she likes them), and feeling like her biggest dream has just come true.

"No," she whispers. "No, you _can't_ be in love with _me_."

"I am," he says, and his every word sounds sincere, but what does she know about sincerity and love, really?

She's just a prissy little fifteen-year-old girl that wears frilly pink sweaters and thinks she's the queen of everything, when you actually look _past_ the crystal blue eyes and perfect long eyelashes and delicate features and oh-so-perfect blonde hair.

And, if that's not bad enough, Roxanne is using her hair stuff, trying to impress some boy, so her hair isn't even perfect.

Some queen she is.

But Teddy's apparently convinced that she is a queen—or at least a princess of some sort. "I do love you, Vicky."

And then he kisses her and it's everything anyone's ever told her it was and more, because it's _him_. Kissing Teddy is more magical than anything she's done in her five years at Hogwarts.

They decide to keep it a secret, though—_not_ because he's afraid of her dad—and everyone remains blissfully ignorant of the coy winks and frequent smiles they send each other until her seventh year, when James (the bugger) lets out the secret.

"It's like with my mum and dad," he tells her one day. "Their secret was blown when Sirius found them kissing. Well, technically, it wasn't much of a secret—but it was made official when he busted them. With us, though, it was _James_ Sirius. But isn't that neat?"

"Yes," she agrees immediately, feeling her heart go to him as she realizes that this boy she's in love with - he's nothing but a poor little orphan boy at heart. Victoire looks into Teddy's now-green eyes that are eager to have a connection with his lost parents, sighing softly.

"It's great, Teddy."

**part six: forever ~violet~ (Molly & Arthur)**

On the day they make their vows, the sun is shining droplets of light; the people are chattering and laughing and crying; the grass is dancing and swaying to the rhythm the wind makes.

It's beautiful, almost as beautiful as _her_.

The long, streaming ivory dress goes nicely with the fresh violets—Molly grew them—that she's holding in her hands.

The aisle is long and covered with petals scattered all over (little Amelie Wood is cute, but she's not very coordinated—Teddy hopes no one expects her to be as brilliant on a broom as her father) and Victoire glides effortlessly down it like an angel that has fallen from the sky.

She _is_ an angel—where she fell from, no one knows.

They look at each other with just the right amount of love in their eyes, they smile with just the right amount of excitement, they say_ I do_ with just the right amount of promise.

And no one (except maybe her grandparents) will be more perfect than her and Teddy (who's wearing his hair blue today, the way she _loves_ it), Victoire thinks giddily as she throws the bouquet.

_(Rose catches it. Her father nearly tears Scorpius apart right then and there, when Rose smiles at the blushing boy shyly.)_

**part seven: colors ~rainbow~ (Teddy & Victoire)**

All of a sudden, his former distant gaze returns to her, and he kisses her fiercely. When they break apart, he's grinning, so hugely you'd think it was his wedding day.

No. He's _much_ happier than he was on his wedding day. He opens his mouth, but she beats him to it.

"_Shh!_" Victoire whisper-yells at him halfheartedly. "We'll wake everyone else up." She's as ecstatic as him (he knows she is) but she's always been better at putting on masks.

"I don't care," Teddy says aloud, making her poke him sharply in the shoulder. "I don't care," he repeats, even louder.

"Teddy, I'm serious, you have to _whisper_—" They're at the Burrow for Christmas, and for the first time, they've been allowed a room (and bed) of their own.

"I don't _care_, Vic," Teddy says for the third time, going even higher in volume. "I'm going to be a _father_!" He yells this last part, and the smack of her hand covering his mouth is nearly as loud.

Her father rushes into the room quickly, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and pajama pants, followed groggily by her mother who's hastily thrown on her robe.

"What the _hell_ did you just say, Lupin?" Bill's normally calm eyes are narrowed and fierce, and all Teddy can do is stutter and try to avoid the sparks that are flying.

His wife, however, is not intimidated in the least.

"Which one of us?" Victoire counters, and Ginny, who is approaching the scene with a sleepy Harry and hyper Lily in tow, grins.

* * *

"John, if you don't put that down _right_ now—" the harassed-looking mother of four yells at her son, who is about to destroy her uncle's Order of Merlin that he let her borrow to examine. "Dora—sweetie, _please_ stop dancing on your father's papers, those are _important_, darling—"

A noise echoes from another part of the house and all of them—even Dora—freeze.

"Daddy!" Arthur yells into the silence, and they all follow him quickly as he runs as fast as his six-year-old legs can take him into the living room.

After greeting, hugging, kissing, and poking all of his children, Teddy turns his brown eyes on her, grinning. His hair is a light shade of green—it makes her think of green tea—and she thinks that it really has been _much_ too long.

He'd left two weeks ago for that damn Auror mission, and it's been harder for her since he left than she'll ever admit.

"And how was _your_ day, Vicky?" he asks, smirking a little, and she practically _flies_ into his arms, she moves so fast.

After kissing and hugging and fretting over him until she's satisfied, Victoire pulls him down onto the couch beside her and they sit, fingers laced together, watching their kids—"John Theodore Lupin, don't you _ever_ push your sister again!" "But, mum, she _bit_ me! That's not normal for three-year-old's, is it?"—as peacefully as possible.

"I love you," Teddy says suddenly, turning to look at her with those big eyes she's never been able to resist.

"I love you, too," she answers, and his hair turns pink just like it did when they were teenagers. She laughs and ruffles it, and then she kisses him again, the same magic erupting that did in her fifth-year.

They've followed in other's footsteps, but the two of them have made their own fairytale—_Teddy & Victoire_—from rainbows and starshine and love and blueblueblue eyes (and_ hair)_.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Word Count: 2,229**

**Written For:**

**- Day 24 on isn't-she-lovelyy's 400 Fragrant Prompts Challenge (green tea; eyelash; queen of everything; victoire weasley) on HPFC.**

**- Silver (positive) on Empress Empoleon's Colors Competition on HPFC.**

**- Peppermint Sprigs on AStitchedUpHeart's Create-A-Potion Challenge on HPFC.**

**- TeddyVictoire on SnarkyAndProudHufflepuff's Wacky and Not So Wacky Pairings Challenge on HPFC.**

**Please review. ;)  
**


	3. lucylorcan

**closets**

lucy&lorcan

...

"Yeah, yeah," Fred yells. "I'll arrange the damn ornaments in freaking _color patterns_!"

"Freddie," Roxanne says as she passes by her brother, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Don't yell at Victoire. She's just being her obsessive, compulsive, self. Oh, wait, don't they have a name for that—"

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder," the two tanned-skinned siblings shout at the stairs together, and Victoire's voice is heard screaming, "Just put the ornaments on the tree the _right way_ before aunt Audrey gets here! Get Lily and Hugo if you need help!"

"Like we'd need help from ten-year-olds," Lorcan scoffs as he turns the corner into the room.

"We just might," Rose comments from her perch on the kitchen table, where she's been watching the conversation. "But really, guys, we need to get this done. If she comes to check on us and everything's not ready—"

"Let's just say that aunt Hermione can put even _my_ mom's yelling skills to shame," Louis says from the doorway.

Roxanne shivers at the prospect. "Get Lysander and James," she says to Fred. We're going to do this. _Without_ magic."

"Remind me again, _why_ exactly are we not using magic?" Dominique complains as Lorcan hands her a box of tinsel to put out.

"Because," Victoire says, coming down the steps and looking annoyed. "First of all, we're under age."

"You and Teddy—" Dominique starts to say.

"_Most_ of us are under age," Victoire cuts over her sister, glaring at the redheaded Veela.

"Second, it's aunt Audrey's birthday tomorrow, and she's a Muggle, so this year, we've decided to give her a proper Muggle Christmas. Which means _no wands_," she adds, her eyes flickering to her brother menacingly.

"I still don't get why we can't use wands and _tell_ her we did it all ourselves," Dominique huffs, folding her arms against her chest.

"Because we're not all conniving, sneaky little Slytherins like you, Dom," James says, following Fred and Lysander into the room, raising an eyebrow at his cousin.

"I'm a Ravenclaw," Lucy counters, "and _I_ think that the whole "no magic" thing is a bit much, too. After all, we're witches and wizards. We were _born_ for magic."

"Actually, I rather like to think that it was my _birth_ that was magical," James says gallantly, flexing his muscles, and Lily smacks him.

Fred rolls his eyes at his best friend, then turns to Lucy. "Why do _you_ care, Luce?" he asks, a scarily mischievous grin replacing his frown at Victoire's rules. "You don't need your _wand_ to get in on with Lorcan in a closet—"

"Fred!" Lucy gasps, and Roxanne hits him for her, holding back a giggle with her hand. Lorcan is beet red and Lysander, James, and Louis are laughing.

"We're not going to do anything in a closet," Lucy mutters, her cheeks tinged pink.

"We're not?" Lorcan asks, mock hurt coming onto his face as the blush quickly disappears and his Gryffindor humor replaces it. "Lucy, you _promised—_"

"Oh, shut up, you prat." Lucy glares at him, but her eyes are sparkling and she's grinning, so the normally-terrifying effect is spoiled.

"Besides," Louis says, pulling some of his grandmother's gingersnaps out of a cabinet, "we all know that Vic and Teddy'll be in the closet. Sorry, Lorc."

Victoire turns as red as her father's hair. "Stop, Louis," she pleads as everyone laughs. "That was a one time thing."

James snorts. "Didn't look like it to me," he says, grinning up at his eldest cousin.

"You weren't supposed to _be_ there," she snaps, and her golden hair turns nearly as white as her mum's as sun shines through the Burrow's windows.

"Now." Roxanne clasps her hands together, a signal of listen or you die. "Rose, Dom, Vic, and me'll put up smaller things. You boys get to work on the tree."

"I thought it was already up?" Lysander asks, turning to Fred. "Wasn't Victoire giving you directions for how to decorate it?"

"Oh," Fred laughs, "she was telling me how to decorate _Lily's_ tree—you know, that one our uncle Charlie got her, with the dragon angel on top?"

"I can decorate my own tree," Lily snaps as Lysander says, "Oh."

"Sure you can," Albus teases as he enters with Scorpius.

"Is anyone even going to _listen_ to me?" Roxanne demands, her hands on her hips.

"Nope," James answers, and then he goes back to tickling Rose, laughing as she squirms and shrieks, and she's about to say _screw you, Vic_ and hex him into oblivation when Lucy saves her.

"Really, guys, we need to work." The blonde Weasley grabs Lorcan and pulls him to the living room, the others following, moaning and complaining.

"For aunt Audrey," Lily cheers, and some of the moaning is replaced by halfhearted "Yippee!"'s.

"Well," says Louis. "We should probably start," he finishes, sinking onto the couch beside Hugo. "I'll watch this little guy."

"Oh, no you won't," Victoire says, pulling him up and pushing him out. "Get to _work_!"

Mumbling, the collection of teenagers begin to put out holiday decorations and make banners that say, "Happy Birthday, Aunt Audrey!"

They're actually making progress (other than the fact that the tree is nowhere to be seen) when there's a sound from the door.

They all freeze.

Then, chaos breaks loose.

"How about that closet?" Lorcan asks her as they all scramble away, running for their lives, and it takes about a half second for her to say:

"Thought you'd never ask."

Maybe she's more of a Gryffindor than anyone ever thought.

"I don't see a Christmas tree," Ginny says, in a normal tone but in a scream-worthy loud voice, and Lucy takes Lorcan's hand and sprints to the nearest door (which ends up being a bathroom, not a closet, but at that point, neither of them care about anything but _getting out of sight_).

* * *

When they come out hand-in-hand, an hour later, no one says anything (they don't really want to know), but Fred winks, James smirks, Lucy smiles and Lorcan grins.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. **

**Word Count: 1,061.**

**Alright, so this one had more than just Lucy/Lorcan in it. I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway, though.****  
**

**Review, please! :)**


	4. lucyscorpius

**the right match**

lucy&scorpius

...

He's all about _getting things done_ and _living the good life_ and _being successful_. His worst case scenario would probably be failing his N.E.W.T.S.

* * *

Her entire life is _dream big_ and _you can do it!_ and all of those Albus Dumbledore quotes that her aunt and uncle's spout out like she spits out vegetables.

She bubbles and shimmers and most importantly, she _loves_.

* * *

She loves music and ribbons and animals and her parents and sister and cousins and aunts and uncles.

And she loves _him_, which comes as a shock to more than just the two of them.

(Of course, it takes time for her to love him, and vice versa.)

* * *

He is just Scorpius - Albus's best friend, son of Uncle Ron's sworn enemy, that poor boy in the middle of the _RoseScorpiusLily_ triangle.

He's thinking of branching out, though, maybe becoming a circle.

After all, his life isn't all straight lines and angles. It's more of rotation and diagonals and infinity (infinity of problems and Lucy Weasley, of course).

* * *

In the middle of a grassy field close by the Scamander twins' house, they lay in flowers - or were they weeds? - and talk.

"What do you want to do?" He asks, just to hear her voice.

"I'm not sure," she answers, a bit wistfully. "I'd like to be an animal doctor."

He chuckles at her closed eyes. "You could be Hagrid's partner."

"No," she answers, laughing. "I'd actually like to join the Muggle world - they call them veterinarians, did you know that?"

"I didn't." He looks at her hair fanning out like gold behind her, and the stardust on her face as she smiles without seeing at the sun.

"What would _you_ like to be?" She opens her eyes, putting those beautiful brown spotlights on him.

"I don't know," he says, and he means it.

He's not sure if he knows _anything_ anymore.

* * *

That was the day that Lucy officially become the fourth angle of his love-shape, making it a diamond.

(They're the next generation; they're to original and spontaneous for _squares_.)

* * *

He is constantly confused about where he's going, who is going with him.

(Except in his dreams, of course, but no one listens to _those_.)

* * *

She comes to his house one night, standing on the steps with street lamps shining behind her, looking like his best nightmare, her hair ruffled and her eyes bright with tears and broken dreams and her face shining with wetness (not with hope, for once).

He holds her and whispers to her and promises to kill that good-for-nothing Scamander boy - but this just makes her more upset, because "violence is never the answer."

"But thank you anyway, Scorpius."

* * *

Not long after that, Dominique finds a boy (Carter Wood) and she's _out_.

Rose and Lily have become an issue, unlike Dom, who was never really anything more to him than _prettypretty eyes_ and _sugarystolen kisses_.

Maybe that's why she never did have a place in the shape.

* * *

He's playing a video game with Hugo, who is becoming more and more obsessed with Muggle gadgets as each day passes, whenever Teddy and Lily enter the room.

"So," Teddy starts, picking a chip from their bowl, "how's Rose, Scorp?"

"Good, s'far as I know," Scorpius answers, not taking his eyes from the television screen.

"Good." Teddy sits down beside them, still munching on chips, occasionally giving Hugo tips.

This goes on for awhile before Lily becomes bored.

"Scorp!" she exclaims. "What're you going to get Rose for her birthday?"

"I dunno," the blonde answers, his gray eyes turning to look at his best mate's sister, and there is amusement clear in them. "A leash, maybe."

"Scorpius!" Lily smacks him, laughing. Hugo just gives the boy a dirty glare, while Teddy snorts and nearly chokes up barbecue-flavored potato chips, but Scorpius pats him on the back helpfully.

"I'm joking," he insists, looking at Lily threateningly. "Don't tell her I said that. I swear, it was a joke."

"I believe you," Lily calls behind her as she saunters out off the room.

"Control your girlfriend," Scorpius mutters darkly to Teddy, making Hugo snort with laughter and Teddy almost-choke again.

* * *

Rose stands in front of him, fire in her eyes and her hands on her hips.

"Lily tells me you called me a _bitch_?" She is furious; sparks are flying, electricity all over her, and he is almost too scared to answer.

"Not _directly_," Scorpius says relunctantly, and seeing her outraged face, he adds hastily, "But it was a joke - I didn't mean that you're - I just said that I was getting you a leash for your birthday - "

She gasps. He backs away, but not back far enough. After he cringes from the slap, she gives him one last look - fury, resentment, confusion, hurt.

"Rose, you don't understand! This is all just a big misunderstanding!"

She doesn't answer, just turns around and silences him with her glare.

Then she flounces away with the most dignity she can muster and it is _then_ that Scorpius notices the redheaded girl leaning against the counter watching him, while smirking slightly.

"I told you not to tell her!" Scorpius rounds on Lily, searching her eyes angrily. She just laughs.

"What're you going to do about?" There is something in her smile that draws him in; she's backed against the wall in moments and his thoughts are short, fuzzy, and tinted in red.

(After all, he's just a teenage boy - a _Malfoy_ - surrounded by all these beautiful girls that constantly attack him. How is he supposed to find the right one, especially with all these damn _hormones_ flying around?)

* * *

Time goes on. _LilyandLorcan_. _RoseandLysander_. _DominiqueandCarter_.

* * *

So now they're a line - Scorpius on one point, Lucy on the other, but the distance between them is just too far.

* * *

He thinks one day that he rather prefers brown to blue, eccentric to normal, blonde to red, beautiful to pretty.

* * *

_It's now or never._ It's her seventeenth birthday, and his last chance. He's seen the way that boy Louis invited has been looking at her, and he doesn't like it, not at all.

"C'mon," he murmurs, taking her hand and pulling her - gently - out the Burrow's aged, wooden doors.

He takes her to a field.

They sit in a field of weeds - or were they flowers? - and when she looks up at him with those big brown eyes, looking like his mother's best chocolate mousse, he kisses her, as softly and sweetly as he can.

Because she's Lucy, fragile and delicate and easy to break, and it's not worth it to try to be forceful with her (she'll just fly away, like the beautiful butterfly she is).

(But while she's there, it's the best feeling in the _wholewideworld_ to be with her.)

* * *

Now they're a circle, with her face filling it, those _bigbrowneyes_ shining and that _longdirtyblonde_ hair gleaming.

* * *

**Word Count: 1,190**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Written For:**

**- Turquoise (positive) on Empress Empoleon's Colors Competition on HPFC.**

**- If You Dare Challenge on HPFC (Prompt #802, Fire In Your Eyes).**

**please don't fav/alert without reviewing.**


	5. victoirelorcan

**reality check**

victoire&lorcan

…

Her life is coming apart, her plans and goals all unraveling from the same thread, icy glass blue eyes (her eyes) shattering (love is gone).

Everything she's worked, begged, and cheated for is crumbling to her feet, where the ashes lay beside the remains of the_ old_ Victoire Weasley.

.·° .·° .·°

For approximately three weeks, one day, five hours, and two minutes, she focuses on staying away from Teddy.

Then, finally, on September 14th, at 5:02 AM, the cab rolls out onto the road and yes - _she's escaped_ - after only 31, 982 minutes.

Not that she's been counting.

.·° .·° .·°

"Just take me away," she tells the driver. He doesn't look very happy about this, but she throws more bills throw the slot and he eventually agrees.

They end up in America - New York, New York, where his sister lives, apparently.

Her head is nearly hanging out the window with wonder - all the neon lights and shining stars capture her attention quicker than books do Rose's.

This is the place of dreams, she thinks, and doesn't even wince this time when she thinks of Teddy, and how surely _he's_ her dream.

_A nightmare now_, she reminds herself sternly.

.·° .·° .·°

Whenever he pulls up right beside the Plaza Hotel, asking if she has any money, she just shakes her head, eyes still wide with amazement.

"Eh," Robert says. "You can stay with me, if you'd like."

Her eyes swish back to him, taking in his deep voice and cigar-smelling clothes and charcoal gray eyes and scruffy brown beard with strands of silver in it.

"I'd love to," Victoire answers sincerely, the blue of her eyes gleaming a bit more than they had the past 32, 034 minutes. "Thank you _so_ much."

.·° .·° .·°

His apartment, that is really his sister Christine's (he stays with her when he's not working in London) is actually quite clean.

The wood floors, walls, tables, and chairs still smell like lemons, because according to Christine, her sixth sense had randomly transpired. She'd somehow _known_ that scatter-brained, forgetful Rob would bring home a friend.

Victoire was a grateful for this (very much so) because the odor coming off of Robert was making her a bit light-headed; the fresh, tangy, scent of Pine was a relief.

.·° .·° .·°

After Robert had shown her a room and plopped her bag down on the colorful, raggedy quilt, unpacking began.

First, she used her wand, but then realized that she was boarding with Muggles, and that it most likely wouldn't go over well if they caught her levitating clothes onto hangers.

By the time this thought occured to her, however, all she had left was nail polish, so she quickly jams those in the tiny bathroom's shelf, across the hall, and does her best to ignore the bright shade of all-too-familiar turquoise.

.·° .·° .·°

That night for dinner, Christine makes her "famous" pot roast casserole, which her and Robert make faces at together when Christine isn't looking.

Rob isn't great at subtlety, though, so they're spotted.

Smacking her brother's almost-bald head of hair with a silver spoon, Christine promises that neither of them will receive her also "famous" chocolate-raspberry pudding.

(Victoire tastes some later, though, despite the many warnings she receives from Rob. It isn't that bad, really, it just needs more chocolate and less raspberry juice.)

.·° .·° .·°

She spends most of her time searching for a job. This is hard work, seeing as all she's ever wanted to be is a fashion designer, and these Muggle offices keep asking her about "college."

Since she has the sense to not mention Hogwarts, "I went to a private finishing school," is all she says to the many agents she spoke to.

This does not make her very confident; instead, she feels like maybe she should just go home.

.·° .·° .·°

One day, she's walking back to Robert and Christine's apartment building, when she spots a family walking loudly down the block across from her.

It's hard to remember her motto of Never look back as she watches the boys - so much like Fred, James, and Hugo - chase the girls (who have an uncanny resemblance to Roxanne, Lily, and Rose) around with a worm on a stick.

There's even an older-looking girl snapping orders at the front, a boy with brown eyes by her side.

It makes her heart hurt.

.·° .·° .·°

After nearly a month at the Apartment - as she's begun to call the place - she has no new ideas, no jobs, no nothing.

Well, two new friends and a recipe for Christine's vegetable stew.

But it's not likely she'll ever _cook_ the stew, and once she returns to London (in ten, maybe twenty years, if nothing major happens) Rob and Christine will become a thing of the past.

Laying on her bed one afternoon, she lets herself remember.

.·° .·° .·°

"Vic," Teddy says, sounding distant even though he's a foot away from her.

"What?" she answers irritably. It's her seventeenth birthday, and he's supposed to be relieving her of her virginity, not striking up conversations.

"I've been thinking," he replies slowly, carefully, deliberately, "and I think that maybe we're not right for each other."

"What?"

"Vicky.. I'm not trying to be critical.. but you're a bit - well, a _lot_ too clingy and obsessive."

At first, speech is not even possible, she is so enraged. Here she is, lying in his bed, wearing nothing but a bra as red as her face, and he's saying _we're not right for each other_? Too _clingy_?

Slowly, she calms down a _little_ (it's been about thirty seconds). Teddy isn't a player, or a jerk, or mean. He's just clumsy, forgetful, awkward, and sometimes, if you give him time to think, he'll think about the wrong things.

He's not trying to embarrass her; he's honestly thought this through.

Not that thinking that makes anything better. Her life is still _so_ over.

"Alright."

She picks up anything, just _something_, off of the floor, slips it on, and stands up. "Bye, Teddy," she whispers when she gets to the door. Her hand only waivers slightly, and then she's walking down the hallway, wearing a lacy bra two sizes too small, and Teddy's boxers.

Quite a scene unfolds: it's only little past eleven, so her entire family (almost) stares at her, open-mouthed, her dad beyond angry, as she walks out, to the field where she cries and eventually Disapparates.

It's a fairytale gone wrong.

But she'll find her Prince; every princess does, right?

.·° .·° .·°

"That nutty old man," Christine mutters one day, glancing out the window, while shaking her head disapprovingly. "Good thing he'll be gone Friday," she adds, as she finishes cutting the red bell pepper.

"Who?" Victoire inquires curiously, hopping up onto a stool across from  
the kitchen counter and plucking a grape off of a tray in front of her.

"I can't say his first name," the Muggle woman admits. "But his last name is Lovegood, and he's always visiting the man that lives beside us - Newt Scamander."

"Newt Scamander? He lives beside you?" For an instant she is beyond excited, she is ecstatic - then she remembers, and she's panicking.

Christine raises an eyebrow at her from above whatever vegetable she's slaughtering now. "Yes. You know him?

"Well," Victoire covers up awkwardly, "not _exactly_. My mum used to, though."

This is partly true. (Not really.)

Christine makes a _hmph!_ noise and delivers a particularly brutal slice to the poor tomato she has. "His son has twins, Luke and Lewis? Or was it - "

"Lorcan and Lysander," Vic finishes for her. "Old childhood friends. Could I go see them?"

Christine gives her a strange look, but she's already out the door, thinking that maybe she _likes_ this free adventurous rebel thing.

.·° .·° .·°

"Victoire!" Lorcan exclaims when he swings open the door, his eyes showing his surprise when he sees the blonde Weasley standing meekly on his grandpa's front porch.

"Hey," she says, shy now that she's arrived, but Lorcan is grinning and pulling her inside by the elbow.

Instead of taking in the beauty and eccentricities of the house, she finds herself fascinated by the warmth he produces, just by touching her elbow.

.·° .·° .·°

He shows her the kitchen, dining room, bedrooms, living room, parlor, pantry ("are you serious, lorcan?"), balcony, pool, and soon all that's left is the door.

"Well," she says awkwardly, grinning at him. "I had a great time, Lorc."

It's strange; her and Lorcan were never particularly close back in England, but here, it's been three hours and she's already calling him "Lorc" like they've been best friends since birth.

"Me too," he answers, returning her smile. His eyes sparkle.

"Come back soon!" he calls to her retreating figure when she reaches the street. "Maybe everyone'll be home then!"

She just nods and wiggles her fingers in a wave (some thing she hasn't done since _him_), her eyes shiny.

.·° .·° .·°

"Where were you today?" Rob asks gruffly that night at dinner. He's actually eating at the table, not sneaking away to bribe food off his friends (Christine's at work, so they'd ordered Italian).

"At a friend's house." She twirls spaghetti around her fork slowly, watching him out of the corner of her eyes.

"And was this friend a boy, per say?" He's frowning at her disapproving, making her neatly melt in tears of happiness.

She doesn't know how long it's been since someone had genuinely cared about her - not since her dad, probably.

"Are you _crying_?" Robert asks her in awe.

"No," she says. "I just - it just means a lot for you to care about me - "

"Listen, kid," he interrupts. "You were my first customer in twenty-four years. I care."

And then she throws her arms around his neck and plants a big, wet kiss on his cheek, baffling him.

She thinks she might've found a _family_ here, in the land of dreams.

.·° .·° .·°

"Reality check," she whispers to herself, pinching her own arm. "He's never going to like you. He's Molly's."

Sighing, she adds, "Reality _bites_."

.·° .·° .·°

Christine sighs. "Victoire, I thought I told you to wash your laundry." Her hand is on her hip in that _why do you makes things so difficult?_ position that Victoire is very much used to.

"I didn't feel like it," she mumbles into her knees, usually wide-open blue eyes closed.

She's sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, chin on the very bottom of her upper legs (she's wearing short shorts that still smell like _him_).

It's all she can do to not hypervilate, because she's just realized that she's in New York City, in a house where two almost-strangers - _Muggles_ - have taken her in, Teddy broke up with her because she was too "clingy", and she just might be falling in love with Lorcan Scamander.

.·° .·° .·°

"Come on," he grins, his adorable left dimple showing. "I want to show you something." He takes her hand and drags her to a small alcove, where they Disapparate.

It's hard to find a place private enough to suddenly _disappear_ in the Big Apple, so Lorcan's father built this - the perfect place, especially since it grows right out of the house, so there's an outdoor and indoor entrance.

.·° .·° .·°

His hand leads her to a treehouse, right on the edge of the city, the one place she's been where there is no third, twentieth, or three-hundredth person in sight.

It's just a few small buildings, a forest, and a tiny playground. They venture into the woods, her saying "Ooh!" at the colorful foliage and him smirking as he points to the treehouse.

"I found it," he tells her on the way up (though she tries to tune him out so that she can concentrate, and not break her neck). "A few years ago. I've been visiting ever since, but you're the first person I've ever let come with me."

He flashes her a smile. "I told Lysander, but I didn't tell him where it is. He'd want to go, and it never felt - _right_ to invite him."

"And it felt right to invite me?" She's finally made it up the creaky wooden ladder; one day is reaching for his outstretched one, the other is holding tight to a chair.

"Yeah."

After he steps inside, she closes the latch, he turns on the lantern, and they sit.

.·° .·° .·°

There is a red, thin, threadbare rug thrown across the rough wooden floor; a small shelf in the far corner filled with comics and classics; a tin can; and him.

There are no windows (normally this would annoy her, though now she's thankful, because rain is starting to fall outside).

Maybe she shouldn't be sitting so close to him, but his arms are spread apart, his back leaning against the wall, the space between his chest and arm the perfect size for her head of silvery shiny hair.

.·° .·° .·°

"Saltine?" he asks, stuffing one in his mouth. "They taste great."

Apparently, that's what he'd put in the tin can: saltine crackers and mints, but the mints are so old that they're fuzzy, so he'd advised her not to touch those.

She shakes her head.

"Suit yourself." As he chews, a piece of white paper in between two floorboards catches her eye.

"What's that?"

Without waiting for his answer, she crawls over, and finds that it's a faded note, from 1957, according to the date.

"How have I never noticed that?" he wonders aloud, seeming slightly disappointed with himself.

His hair is mussed; eyes sage green; stubble evident on his jaw; crumbs on his face, and he's so cute that she musses his hair up even more.

_Dear Jack_, the letter reads. After skimming through it, Victoire has deciphered that "Rachel" and "Jack" had been in a secret relationship, meeting in this treehouse, until something not mentioned happened and their love ended.

She looks into Lorcan's eyes, and sees nothing but a promise, which might be why what happens next happens.

.·° .·° .·°

In the four seconds while they're both leaning, before it happens, she thinks of Jack and Rachel and their broken love, of Teddy and Victoire and _their_ broken love, and of the _new_ Victoire, the new home, the new family (Robert, Lorcan, Christine).

Then she looks into his already half-closed evergreen orbs and closes the _teenytinynonexistent_ gap between them.

.·° .·° .·°

They kiss with something like attraction; they love with anything, like laughter; they live with everything, like _forever_ and _second chances_.

.·° .·° .·°

Robert moves back to England with them, where he's well-liked within the family, and Christine stays, though soon she's donning her apron and promising to deliver the best wedding dinner in the history of the world.

"That's not necessary," Victoire protests.

"The wedding's not till May 15th," Lorcan argues.

.·° .·° .·°

Her father walks her down the aisle proudly, her mother beams, sobbing, and Lorcan grins, creating warmth without even touching her.

Robert cat-calls along with the majority of her male cousins whenever they kiss, Christine wipes her eyes and talks to her grandmother, discussing recipes, Dominique smiles and touches her swelling stomach the entire time.

.·° .·° .·°

And her?

She looks at him, kisses him, hugs him, and thinks that blue hair is just _weird_.

.·° .·° .·°

**Word Count: 2,638**

**Written For:**

**- Magenta (negative) on the Colors Competition**

**- The If You Dare Challenge, Prompt #4, Reality Bites**

**- Death Eaters on the Dark Side Competition**


	6. rosescorpius

**a single white rose**

rose&scorpius

…

They meet at eleven, at Hogwarts, with sparks flying behind them, overwhelming excitement and nervousness overtaking them, and it feels like the sun has risen when he looks at her.

They're best friends, they fall in love, they defy their families, and it's the perfect, _ohso_expected, cliché fairytale.

;;

Her parents could not have chosen a better name for her.

She is beautiful, delicate, with soft-like-petals dark red hair and bright eyes that shine.

She is his Rose, thorns and all.

;;

She's fourteen-going-on-forty whenever she realizes that her father _doesn't_ rule her life, that maybe Lily was right—rebelling _is_ fun—so she kisses him, right beside the little plaque that says "At this exact spot, on May 2nd, 1998, Fred Weasley was killed."

;;

Of course, her little spout of rebellion grows into something bigger—something bigger than both of them—_love_.

;;

Albus offers advice, as he always does about these things, because he's _Albus_ and he's a bit young to be as wise as his namesake once was, but if the advice works, no one says a thing about his slightly eccentric quality.

"Don't get too close," he tells Scorpius. "I love her, Scorp, she's my cousin, but her thorns are poisonous, mate."

"You'd have done better with Roxy."

;;

He doesn't listen.

How could he?

She is just _ohso_sweet and _ohso_tempting.

;;

One Valentine's Day, the day before he turns sixteen, he buys her a big bouquet of red roses and chocolate cherries.

"I should save some for Roxanne," Rose says as she sits on the blue and bronze couch and pops a chocolate in her mouth. "She's obsessed with these things lately," she adds, ignoring her boyfriend's wince.

;;

She's seventeen-going-on-seventy whenever she contracts the disease. It's not that big of a deal, of course, since she's _magical_ and St. Mungo's can fix _anything._

;;

At St. Mungo's, Rose keeps in her tidy, sterile white bed and eats her applesauce and does her homework (that he and Albus bring her) like a good little Weasley girl.

After a month, the doctors claim that she is all better, that she should be fully recovered in a few weeks and she is to return to school.

;;

Things don't go according to plan. (They never do.)

She is better, for the moment, but this mysterious illness—_a Muggle sickness_, the doctors say,_ but neither us nor Muggles have a cure_—keeps coming back.

;;

Despite everything, though, she remains herself.

;;

One of her friends gives her a rose one day, a _welcome back from the hospital_ gift, and she gives it to him, claiming that she prefers white roses.

"Why?" he asks, a little bemused, because she's _red_—there is not a hint of white in her, at all—she's always been red, and this is yet another example of her adorable backwardness.

"I'm not sure," she answers, turning around on his lap to twirl her fingers in his hair. "I guess because they're pure, and beautiful, and unblemished. Not wild, not common.."

She trails off a bit, and then her eyes find his, brown to gray, helpless and determined to helpless and trying.

"And, because they me of you," she finishes. "Beautiful and white—almost like your hair—and pale and perfect, and hard to find."

Then he kisses her—just like the old days, with more passion and much_too_much more desperation, but the butterflies are the same.

;;

She glides, going in and out of the hospital, but always saying, reverently, that she'll be okay, everything will be fine.

;;

After watching her throw up, while visiting her Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill, he decides that he can't wait, he has to take action.

So he goes down to Diagon Alley with Louis (because he's perhaps the only Weasley boy that won't threaten to kill him for doing this) and searches for the perfect ring for Rose.

;;

She's _almost_ twenty-going-on-two-hundred when he pops the question.

She's in her latest hospital bed, and they're alone, because her family is in the gift shop, looking around for her twentieth birthday present. He's already bought her gift from him, though (unless she refuses).

"Yes, a million times yes!" she shrieks with more enthusiasm and volume than she should have at this point, face pale and frame thin under the sheets.

He grins, kisses her cheek softly, and helps her put on the ring—he can't just do it _for_ her, because she's _Rose Weasley_ and she can do it herself.

It has a silver ring, like his eyes, and a creamy white pearl surrounded by rubies (because she's a _prim_rose now, with only a hint of her wild_red_ past).

;;

They get married, her father helping her down the aisle, his hands grasping hers firmly (lovingly) as they say their vows.

Amidst the cheers of their guests, she murmurs, "Thanks," against his lips.

;;

He takes her to an island, far off the coast of England, far away from anyone and everything. They relax, pretend that this is the world—shining turquoise waterfalls, soft sand, gentle waves, red hair.

;;

It is an innocent night, and all she wants is to be complete—all she wants is him, this one time. She wants to feel what it's like, just _once_, because she already feels herself leaving.

And he can't stop her, he can_not_, because it's all he wants, too.

;;

It is not _sex_—that is far too dirty-sounding, far too common. It is not _making love_—they've already built their love, manymany years before.

It is the most sweet&pure&_whiterose_ thing she's ever done. It's slow and romantic and she refers to it as "that night" while he calls it "magic."

;;

The morning after, he wakes up to her tiny little sleeping sounds she makes (_breath, breath, breeeaaath, breath, breath, breeeaaath_).

He looks at her, curly hair splayed around the purple pillow, skin as delicate as porcelain, face peaceful and beautiful.

He thinks that last night was worth a thousand days, and that if only he could wake up to her _breath, breath, breeeaaath's_ each morning, they might have a happy ending.

;;

A few months after they return and buy a flat for themselves, she discovers that she is, indeed, pregnant.

;;

Time whirls by: they're in shock, kissing and hugging and beaming, then they're telling anyone that'll listen ("I'm pregnant!" "She's pregnant, my wife is pregnant!"), then it's time for the baby shower, and then she's moaning and he's waiting outside the door of the hospital room.

He thinks that maybe this will be the last time she's in a hospital bed.

;;

The white is blinding; the red is shocking; the eyes are startling; the voices are too loud.

;;

"The baby is healthy," the Healer says, a fake smile on her face. "A beautiful baby girl. But, the mother—well, Rose isn't too great at the moment, Mr. Malfoy. If you'd be so kind as to wait outside while we do some work—"

He's already tuned out this woman that doesn't care, already sunken into yet another chair outside the hospital room, already told Albus, who is already telling the rest of the family.

;;

They hadn't really thought about names; it was all generic things, like Draco Ronald or Hermione Astoria. He spends his time contemplating names, hoping that she's there to approve them.

;;

"I'm sorry," the Healer says, a touch of actual sympathy in her practiced _we did everything we could_ tone. "She died, Mr. Malfoy."

He does not tell her what he wishes to say—how the evidence of that fact is glaringly obvious as he stares at her hair, the exact color of blood; her eyes, glassy and still and frozen (but still blue).

(But still _blue_.)

;;

The white of her rose is somewhat tainted now, flashes of crimson and and the stench of death on it's verymuch poisonous thorns.

Albus was right (of course he was). Rose was poisonous, she did kill him—kill his heart, and now he's bleeding, bleeding love.

;;

The child—his _daughter_—comes out in blankets the color of the shirt she died in—soft, soft pink.

At first, he can't help but think that this little baby is a murderer—but, no, as the Healer said, it was her illness that did it. Her body wasn't strong enough to handle giving birth (so really, her death is on _his_ hands).

He's still feeling strong resentment towards the thing, though, until those tiny eyes open up and reveal that _exact_ shade of blue.

He looks into them and sees his past, present, and future, and he knows that this little girl has sucked him in as quickly as her mother did.

;;

He names her Cassidy Rose, meaning 'descendant of the curly-haired love.'

It's true—she was most definitely his curly-haired love.

;;

At the funeral, her body is covered with scarlet red roses, barely distinguishable from her hair, looking like a pool of blood around her gleaming pale body.

;;

There are a thousand red roses around her, but he hands her a white rose, pure and fresh, right at her heart (right where her hand is), right where he was—still is.

;;

Life goes on, and he raises Cassidy the best he can, without having someone to play the mother. Sometimes they're both put out with the situation, but he can't ever bear to love another, not with her standing in front of him everyday, a living reminder of just how much he lost.

;;

On her seventeenth birthday, he buys her a single white rose, and tells her to _please_ keep it pure.

;;

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Word Count: 1,696**

**Written For:**

**- The If You Dare Challenge, Prompt #179 (White).**

**- Castor Beans on AStitchedUpHeart's Create-A-Potion Challenge.**

**- White (negative) on Empress Empoleon's Colors Competition.**

**- Banana on Slytherin Cat's Greenhouses Competition.**

**- George Weasley on Bad Mum's Weasley-Potter-Prewett Challenge.**

**Please don't follow or favorite without reviewing! **


	7. jamesalice

**wine**

james&alice

...

They've been best friends since birth, practically.

...

His parents were war heroes with her parents, so it's only natural that they meet, and clash (like all of the famous couples).

...

He is just so _James_ (wild, disorganized, sweet but lacking in sense, a bit too obsessed with his broomstick) and she is just too _Alice_ (sweet and nice and smart and kind and so damn perfect that you'd never know she had flaws without taking a closer look).

...

At first, they're just little five-year-olds, at the May 2nd memorial together, looking at all the stony-faced people, his crying grandma, and deciding that grown-ups are crazy.

It's the second of May. Why would that make anyone want to _cry_?

...

Pretty soon, they're eight and she still can't stand him, but they hang out more often than not. Fred and Lorcan tease him, saying he's in love with her, when he's honestly not.

She Alice. He has nothing negative to say about her - she's just Alice, and he doesn't have those kinds of feelings for her.

(Maybe he's not as much like his grandfather Potter as everyone thought.)

...

It's a long and seemingly pointless task, to try and make him happy.

She just wants to go home, but he keeps sending her those stupid puppy dog brown eyes and that annoying little smirk that makes her boil.

But she stays two hours later anyway, doing his homework and helping him practice for the Gryffindor Quidditch team auditions, that are the next week, without complaint.

As she's leaving, he gives her an _ohso_casual kiss on the cheek that makes her entire face flame instantly.

...

Alice has always been more of the odd one out in her family.

Her big brother, Frank, is Dominique and Molly Weasley's age, with her mother's charm and her father's black hair and muscular build (though a late developing muscular build).

Her little sister, Belle, is as rational and wispy and fairy-like as her mother, all blonde hair and blue eyes, with just a hint of her father's fierceness.

Alice, is Alice. She's adored only because of her name; because of her copper hair, supposedly from her maternal grandmother, that sticks out in the other Longbottom's bright blonde and dark ebony hair.

...

Maybe the two of them work as friends so well because they're both trying to fit into their name, trying to work up to the expectations, together.

...

He is named Quidditch Captian in their sixth year, and it disconcerts him when she doesn't even bother to show up for the try-outs and attempt to make it on the team.

"But you're a brilliant Chaser," he insists, his brow furrowed, looking at the girl in confusion.

"Yeah." She smiles in spite of herself. "But, really, James, I don't have enough time. Sorry."

He gets a weak, apologetic grin from her before she disappears back down the hallway, leaving him to stare out the window at the stars.

He's James Potter (and he's not normally a corny kind of guy) and he's man enough to admit that he stood in the moonlight, wondering if he and Alice would one day be in them.

As _friends_, of course.

...

The first time he feels a fluster when she's around is fifth-year.

He's a fifteen-year-old boy, a _Potter_, nonetheless, and he's basically a sack of walking hormones, so when he first gets the butterflies, it barely registers in his mind what has just happened.

And what has just happened is, James has just fallen head-over-heels in love with his best friend, effectively either making or breaking their relationship.

...

The first time she gets asked out, it creates a (big) problem.

"You don't have time for this!" he nearly shouts at her. "You've got chess club, and rune club, and that other thing you do - "

"Swimming," she finishes dryly, the full power of her eyes on him.

"I can't _believe_ you, James," she spits out. He turns around, knocked out of his rant about that _Stevens_ guy. "You actually think that my love life is any of your business?"

"Well, no." He looks slightly abashed, but this is James Sirius Potter, who neverever gives up, not ever. "But, Ali, he's a jerk! I swear - "

She sends him one last dirty look, pulling her coat on and slamming the door behind her.

...

They're at The Three Broomsticks, celebrating graduation.

"To freedom," Fred toasts, standing, his arm still around Amy Wood, who's smiling up at him from in her chair.

"To freedom!" the entire table of seventeen-year-old's calls back, gulping down a sip of their mulberry wine (which was hard to get, seeing as Hannah Longbottom works there).

"Truth or dare?" Lucy suggests hopefully, and everyone instantly agrees.

When it's his turn, he proclaims, "Dare," proudly, puffing out his chest, making Alice giggle from beside him.

"I dare you to - " Amy breaks off, looking at Alice. She then turns back to James, grinning evilly. "I triple dog dare you to kiss Alice Longbottom."

For a minute, everything freezes, everything but Amy's green eyes boring into his, a smirk somehow evident even in the pupils, Alice's hand that has suddenly clenched where it was rested on his shoulder, and his own conflicted heart dissipating from mind.

But the only thing here that truly matters is her, as it always will be (he's just starting to realize what these feelings really are - not just love, _devotion_).

He looks at her, staring at him with eyes like amber, and then he leans across the wooden table and kisses her, tasting the tang of wine on her lips.

...

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Written For:**

**- The If You Dare Challenge, Prompt #235 (Wine).**

**- Day 26 on isn't-she-lovelyy's 400 Fragrant Prompts Challenge (moonlight; mulberry wine; "i triple dog dare you!")**


	8. lilyscorpius

**crystal blue**

lily&scorpius

…

History just _loves_ to repeat itself.

-:-

She first meets him at her Sorting, when she slides Into the sit beside him at the Slytherin table, ignoring the slightly-confused cheers and various reactions from her family, over at the Gryffindor table.

-:-

Regardless of the fact that she's a Potter—and a fiesty one, too—he is never anything but nice to her, and when she introduces him to her cousins (Rose, Dominique, Molly), she knows he'll be around for a while, judging by the appreciative looks they're sending him.

-:-

Albus and Scorpius are quick friends, meeting at a Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor and hardly seen without the other at a match after.

-:-

Molly is instantly an ally of his, batting her eyelashes and throwing furtive glances at the vanilla-blonde.

Scorpius is never interested in her in that way, though. Molly, with never-ending humor and optimistic outlooks, just grins coyly.

"Then we'll just have to be friends," she winks, and he knows that this is her way of saying that she's okay with that, that she'll be fine.

-:-

Lily, though, remains his special one. She's like his little sister, he thinks one day, though something about that seems slightly off.

-:-

One day, they go to the lake, not far from Lorcan and Lysander's grandfather's house, where the gathering is that day.

"I dare you to jump in," she grins at him, looking up with that twinkle in her eyes.

Scorpius shakes his head. "It's too dangerous," he decides, and settles in the dirt, grabbing a stick and writing her name in the moist soil.

"Whatever." She shrugs, and cannon-balls in the rapidly-moving water, coming up gasping but grinning, soaking but happy.

Sometimes he wonders how she isn't in Gryffindor, how she was put as a Slytherin.

Sending him a sly look, she opens those _ohso_shockingly blue eyes and sends a handful of lake muck at him, right when he's on the _P _of _SM & LP_.

Sometimes he wonders how he ever thought she should be a Gryffindor. She's brave and she's definitely bold, but in a quieter way; you'd never see it coming.

-:-

Rose was a disaster. Dominique a fiasco. The only rational option is Molly.

He's never much a rationalist, though. He still doesn't have those feelings for Molly, and he really doubts that Molly still has those feelings for him.

-:-

He doesn't choose any of them. Maybe it's because the only one he really wants (his feelings have gone from brotherly to boyfriendly in break-neck speed) is looking content with Lorcan.

-:-

After three months, though, Lorcan has moved on. Actually, to be honest, Lorcan is in New York. There are rumors that he's with Victoire—but that's not the point.

The point is, she's free.

-:-

Not for long, though.

Roxanne's current boyfriend—Tom, or something—seems to be almost as conflicted about these darn Weasley/Potter girls as he is, so Scorpius doesn't get too mad.

Besides, the looks Tom gives Roxanne when he pulls away from Lily are so guilty, Scorpius even feels a little sorry for him—and a lot sorry for Roxanne, whose glass has crushed in her hand.

-:-

He is seventeen whenever he decides to tell Albus.

After all, the boy has always been his friend, stuck by him, even through those awful days when one word out of his mouth was enough for Mr. Weasley to send him a vicious glare (for dating his only daughter).

"Al," he says, in James room, fiddling with his shirt.

"Yeah?" He doesn't even bother to take his eyes off the game Hugo had given him.

"I.." Scorpius takes a deep breath, holding the air as long as possible before being forced to let it out. "I fancy your sister."

"What?" Instantly, Albus is up, eyes wide and horrified, video game strewn across the room.

"Erm," he begins. "Lily. I—I fancy her. Just a bit."

"If you fancy my sister," Albus smirks, "it had better be more than a bit."

Suddenly, the smirk is gone and Al's eyes are stone hard and ice cold on his.

"Of course," Scorpius answers, and they're friends again.

-:-

The day she turns sixteen, he approaches her across the yard, stepping over the cigarette stubs (Molly) that litter the grass.

"Lils." He nudges her, getting her to swivel around, her crystal blue dress—almost as clear, shockingly, permanently blue as her eyes—flying.

"What do you need?"

"Come with me." He takes her elbow and leads her into the abandoned house. She looks at him, confusion written across her face.

"I need to tell you something," he says, and the little bit of confidence inside him disappears. There's nothing to say, nothing to do, but one thing.

She's opening her mouth to question him again, her arms coming up, and he takes them and pins them against the wall as his lips find hers, and he can taste the still hot birthday apple pie she had (yes, birthday pie. She's Lily Potter, and strange is what she does best).

-:-

"I'm dating Scorpius," Lily says a year later, standing and surveying the shocked family members gaping at her at the (long) dinner table.

And then James and Hugo are flying at Scorpius, Albus looking like it's taking a lot to restrain himself, Harry gazing at his only daughter, open-mouthed, Rose sighing, Ginny grinning as George and Bill attempt to restrain James and Hugo.

-:-

For him, every time he looks at her, he thinks that she's the one. She's beautiful and funny and sharp tongued and clever and she looks amazing in green and silver.

-:-

It takes everything he has, all his courage, to ask her father her hand in marriage. It's called old-timey and outdated by some (Rose), but he doesn't care. It's the way things are supposed to work.

So, he squares his shoulders and pretends that this isn't Harry Potter, vanquisher of Voldemort and Head Auror, that this is just Lily's dad.

Who would still scare the living daylights out of him, even if Lily's dad was a bloody History professor.

-:-

Harry isn't that horrible about the situation, though. He plays the overprotective father part quite well (more than is needed, actually) but at the end of the meeting, after shaking Scorpius's hand, he chuckles.

"Just watch out for James and Albus," his future father-in-law warns his, amused. "I fell for my best mate's sister, and let me tell you, it's not an easy thing to come out alive from."

-:-

The wedding is beautiful. The flower girl (Victoire and Lorcan's first daughter) two-year-old Ela, sprinkles lily and petunia petals all around.

Her father wipes a few stray tears from his eyes, Scorpius notices as he waits for his bride to come out.

Then, Lily does, stunning in her white dress that makes her look like sunshine, and all the things that make him love her come into his foggy brain: her quickness to snap, her gentle yet honest nature, the way she brushes her teeth (always the bottom left, then the upper right).

Her father wipes a few stray tears out of his eyes, he notices again as he tears his own maybe wet eyes away from Lily to glance at the guests.

-:-

It takes around a year after the wedding for her brothers and male cousins to realise that they're married, that there is absolutely no need to murder Scorpius each time he's seen holding her hand.

-:-

It takes two years for her to become pregnant.

Once she does, Molly is ecstatic because her and Tom Brown's baby boy is only three months old ("they'll end up together!") and Rose and Lysander have just discovered they're expecting, and Roxanne and Matthew have recently found out that Rox is having a girl.

-:-

Aurora Audrey Malfoy is born on October 6th, 2030. This is a cause for nothing but happiness for all (even James is swiftly wrapped around the little baby's finger).

-:-

Scorpius watches the girl tumble around the living, his arm around Lily Malfoy's shoulder, and thinks:

_I've fallen in love with my best mate's little sister._

_And I've lived to tell the tale._

-:-

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does.**

**Written For:**

**- The One Hour Pairing/Hardest Challenge Ever Challenge on HPFC, with the pairing Lily/Scorpius, time limit of 2 hours, word count of 2,000+, and prompts of blue and crystal.**

**- Silver (negative) on Empress Empoleon's Colors Competition on HPFC.**

**- The If You Dare Challenge, Prompt #25 (I'm alive) on HPFC.**

**- Pairing Diversity Bootcamp, Prompt #2 (whatever) on HPFC.**

**- Day 19 on isn't-she-lovelyy's 400 Fragrant Prompts Challenge (sixteen; cigarette; out of sight, out of mind; hot apple pie) on HPFC.**

**Please review! I'm not very good at Lily/Scorpius because I don't ship it, but I hope someone out there enjoyed this.**


	9. roselysander

**hibiscus**

rose&lysander

...

He first meets her at Louis's ninth birthday party.

Rose is seven, he is eight, and they spend the day together, because Albus is sick with measles in the house, and Lorcan is being a prick (using the words of James).

Lysander has always been a bit adventurous - he's always been the one begging his father to go along on missions, the one asking questions, the slightly eccentric one. Rose has always been quiet, yet she seems to _glitter_. She has a certain courage about her; she's brave enough to act, but definitely brave enough to listen, as well - if she feels the need to listen.

This quality is very much innate, and very much not belonging to Lysander Scamander.

The first thing they do together is climb Victoire's treehouse. It's a place that no one is allowed to go in, only because of the fact that Teddy built it for Victoire, and Victoire has a massive crush on Teddy. None of the various Weasley-Potter kids really listen to Victoire, though.

Lysander takes her hand, and they run across the tan-colored sand of Shell Cottage into the dark emerald colored forests. "Rose!" her mother calls, but Rose just waves, and Hermione eventually sits down after Rolf assures her that they'll be fine, Ly knows what he's doing.

And so the adults watch, over martinis, as the two children - one with dark, rose-red hair, and the other with bright, shining sun-yellow hair, run into their own magical forest of imagination.

"It's beautiful," Lysander says in awe, looking around at all tall, steep trees and colorful greenery. "Look at this flower!" he exclaims, picking up a large, bright pink flower.

"It's so pretty," Rose gushes, blue eyes wide as she looks at the picture perfect flower. Lysander gives her a crooked smile, making her blush a deep crimson (she's only seven, but she's a girl).

"It suits you," he says, then he fastens it in her hair, and it clashes a bit with the dark of her hair and the light of her eyes, but he decides she looks rather beautiful, if _girls_ can be beautiful.

* * *

From that day on, they become best friends. Of course, Rose is still often with Albus - he's her cousin - and Lysander can be found, more than likely, with Lorcan, but when they get together, they're a riot.

The two of them don't get to go to Shell Cottage often, but when they do, it's not just pretend anymore; this is the real thing, and she wears her crown, made of flowers.

Survival skills, Lysander calls them, the ability to walk across a tree trunk into a secret world and swing off of a vine into a lake, all the while listening to the chatter of the monkeys and the cries of the macaws.

They'd survive, definitely, if these are really survival skills. "You could swing off that thing with your eyes closed," Lysander tells Rose. She tinges pink a bit, but accepts the compliment in stride, because quite honestly, he's right.

* * *

One day, they go out and they don't come back for five hours. This gets their mother's in a right state, obviously.

"Rose, where have you been?" Hermione asks when they come in, standing up at the sight of her daughter and Lysander Scamander rushing into her brother-in-law's house covered in dirt.

"In the forest with Ly." Rose sends her a toothy grin, grabs the glass Lysander has placed on the table for her, and dashes back out into the "wilderness."

Bill chuckles. "Your daughter better not be causing any trouble, Hermione!" he exclaims.

"No doubt they're painting the town red right now," George remarks.

"Rose has _hair_ red enough for all of us," Ron says, and Hermione laughs with the rest as she settles back down beside her husband.

* * *

Years go by, but she remains Princess Rose of Terebithia.

She waits and wishes and wants to go back, so very badly, but they're in their teenage years before she is able to.

* * *

Even with growing hormonal unbalance, there is never anything romantic about them. Ever.

She may be harboring secret feeling towards him, but she will never, ever tell him, because that might ruin their friendship. And she can't live without their friendship, she can't live without Terebithia.

And he may sneak glances at her whenever he thinks she's not looking, and he may secretly think that she's beautiful, but he's a Gryffindor, and it would not be brave to tell her his feelings; it would be wise.

He'd never claimed to be wise. He'd never claimed to be anything but Lysander, really.

* * *

Rose has always been one to gild the lily.

The forest is already perfect, Lysander tells her, you don't need to do anything.

She does, though; she takes one of all the flowers they can find, looks it up, writes it's name on a little card, and adds it to the "encyclopedia of Terebithian plants."

He rolls his eyes, but secretly, he's pleased. It means that she cares (and if she doesn't care, neither does he).

It turns out that the one he stuck in her all those years ago was a hibiscus.

* * *

He has abandoned her.

There is only one thing to do (swim without him, go in Terebithia without him). Rose walks timidly down to the water, and looks in, wondering if she is brave enough to do this, to go alone.

Then she thinks of Lysander, out on his date with Cassie Finnigan, laughing and forgetting all about her.

_Yes_.

She inches a bit closer, and then little Rose Weasley takes one more huge step, one more leap, and she's on the rope, swinging with her red-as-blood hair flying out behind her.

And then, the rope snaps.

And then, little Rose Weasley plummets down to a lukewarm death at the bottom of a lake, her hair, blood-red, a mass below her, and, oh, they've painted the town red alright - with her blood.

* * *

After all, every journey begins with a single step.

(Though technically, it was a leap.

And Lysander isn't sure if death counts as a journey.)

* * *

They dress her hair with a hibiscus for the funeral.

It's the only bright spot, a flash of color, rivaling the drab, dull, depressing aura a coffin has.

* * *

A few years later, Lysander takes Lily out to the forest. The sight still pains him: there is Terebithia, in all it's glory, and if he listens, yes, there is Mockuva the monkey.

He leads her across the tree bridge, to the very lake that took his best friend (his love) and he places the flower crown on Lily's head. The girl smiles. "Am I a princess now?" she asks.

Lysander forgets - Lily is only twelve, however much she acts like a grown-up, and he is only fifteen, however much he feels like an old man. "Yes," he says. "You're Princess Lily of Terebithia." A butterfly lands on Lily's nose, and she giggles.

He looks out at the luscious forest; it hasn't changed at all, and yet, just by the way the wind moves, he can tell that as he mourns, the trees mourn with him, and as he moves on, so do the flowers.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

**Note:** All of the "Terebithia" stuff was from Rose and Lysander's imagination. I trust everyone has read/seen Bridge of Terebithia? Obviously, I modeled this after that.

And, no, I don't think Shell Cottage has monkeys.

**Word Count:** 1,204

**Written For:**

- If You Dare, Prompt #540 (Life unlived).

- Pairing Diversity Bootcamp, Prompt #38 (Macaw).

- Favorite Era Bootcamp, Prompt #13 (Kingdom).

- Family Bootcamp, Prompt #16 (Flower).

- Trojan War Competition, Round 1

- Colorful Phrases Competition, paint the town red.

- Popular Songs Competition, Die Young.

- Hogwarts Online II's Prompt of the Day - gilding the lily.


End file.
